


Wardric Cathwulf of Wessex

by bluepeony



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, M/M, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 16:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17410604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluepeony/pseuds/bluepeony
Summary: Sirius is hungover. It's a life or death situation, apparently.





	Wardric Cathwulf of Wessex

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written anything in ages. I mean, literally years. This is just a silly little thing I wrote in half an hour or so when the mood struck me. I've been wanting to get back into writing recently but I don't have Tumblr or anything like that anymore so I don't even know what people are into anymore. Do people still read Marauders fic? What's popular? Let me know if another modern AU (I know, me writing a modern AU, how uncommon) multi-chapter fic is something ya'll would read and if so are there any genres/eras/storylines you'd be interested in seeing?

“Sirius, _stop_. Look, no one ever died from a hangover.”

Sirius slaps down the cushion covering his face, partly to frown, partly to reach out and take the glass of water Remus is holding out to him.

“That isn’t true,” Sirius insists. “There was an Anglo Saxon clan-chief who was hanging so far out his arse after celebrating a battle win that he declared he couldn’t go on, keeled over into a beer barrel, and _died_.”

“That doesn’t sound remotely true. Did you look that up?”

“Yes, I did, and it _is_ true. Wardric of... Essex. Wessex.” Sirius replaces the cushion over his face and mumbles into it, “It had its own Wiki page. Wardric of Wessex.”

Six o’clock that morning, sitting on the edge of the cold bathtub in his boxers, Sirius had indeed preoccupied himself with the Google search while awaiting an inevitable second round of puking. Proof can be found in his phone search history:

_why does jäger make you throw up_

_can u die from a hangover_

_am i dying_

_has anyone died from a hangover_

_has anyone died from a hangover in history_

_wardric cathwulf of wessex did he really die in a barrel_

“I’d have thought alcohol poisoning and acute liver failure would get you before the hangover, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” says Remus.

“The worry at this point is _not_ dying.”

“Shouldn’t be so stupid when you go out then.”

“Wasn’t _me_. Wasn’t _me_ being stupid!” Sirius emerges from behind the protective cushion once more. “This lad kept coming round with trays of shots. James says how much. Lad says two for a fiver. James only has a twenty. Lad gives us eight shots. No change. Eight! Is that illegal? That must be illegal!”

“You didn’t have to drink them.”

“You’re right. You’re right, babe. I should have said to James ‘thanks for buying me a tenner’s worth of shots, pal, but frankly you can shove them up your arse’.”

“Exactly. That’s exactly what you should have said.”

Sirius kicks his bare foot against Remus where he’s sitting at the other end of the sofa and hides his smile with the cushion, because he doesn’t want Remus to see him laugh; he wants Remus to massage his aching calves and press a cold flannel against his forehead.

Remus isn’t normally one to gloat. Usually they go out on the piss together, and Remus is much taller than Sirius but it doesn’t mean he can handle his drink any better, and he certainly can’t handle his hangovers, and usually it’s Sirius who has to fetch the Anadin and pour the water and hot tail it to the McDonald’s drive-thru in his hoodie and pyjama bottoms.

Only last night Remus wanted to stay in and watch _Castaway_ , and Sirius wanted to go out and celebrate Frank’s birthday with his friends, and Remus said Frank does his head in a bit to be honest, and Sirius said they’ve seen _Castaway_ loads of times, and Remus said it never gets old and anyway they still had nearly a full tub of salted caramel Oppo in the freezer, and Sirius said _Castaway_ does get old and the chocolate Oppo is better, and Remus said well it doesn’t matter anyway because Frank does his head in and he’s not in the mood to go out.

Sirius wishes now he’d stayed in and watched _Castaway_. Frank chose a bar called Joe’s Showboat to start with, thinking it would be a laugh, but the live music act was awful and kept doing really depressing songs from the 80s and no one really felt like dancing. The liveliest it got was ‘Shout’ by Tears for Fears. That was the bar with the pushy shots boy too. Sirius vaguely remembers going up to him, half-cut, demanding, “Do you work on commission or something?” to which the lad had waggled his eyebrows and nodded, leaving Sirius feeling indignant, and somewhat taken advantage of.

They moved on to a drag bar, despite Sirius being the only truly eligible patron in the group. The others, embarrassingly, kept requesting what presumably they considered as appropriate gay bar songs: “I Want to Break Free!”, “The Macarena!”, “Anything by Lady Gaga! Just play anything by her!” To make it worse, a man – hench, bald and intense – kept flirting with Sirius every time he tried to go to the bar. Without being asked to, he bought him a cocktail with the rather unsavoury name _Shag_. Sirius told him he was in a relationship, wasn’t interested, just out with his friends and then, when none of this was working, he eventually resorted to lying and saying he wasn’t actually gay.

But he drank the cocktail, and then felt terribly guilty, compelling him to text Remus in the gents at two in the morning: _a guy bought me a shag and i drank it all, im sorry, i love u_

Staying home and sticking to their usual Friday night routine of TV, dessert, bath, sex, bed would have been so much better. They’re twenty-eight now. That’s ancient in gay man years. Sirius really should just resign himself to this fact. This is what Remus told him when Sirius dragged himself out of bed at one in the afternoon.

“We’re old now, Sirius. You really should just resign yourself to this fact. D’you want hash browns?”

Sirius loves him. He is acutely aware of this as he lies there, throat like the Sahara, head like a fire engine. He loves him because Remus squeezes his foot even though he isn’t wearing any socks and says, “Do you want me to run you a bath?” And because when Sirius came back to bed this morning after throwing up, Remus had murmured, “Are you alright?” and had lifted up the duvet for him and wrapped it over him and kissed the back of his head, even though Sirius knew Remus was annoyed at him for clattering in at 4am and waking him up.

It’s because Sirius bloody loves _Castaway_ and doesn’t think it ever gets old, and Remus knows this and didn’t watch it on his own last night, just recorded it for them to watch on catch-up together.

Remus gets up to go and run the bath, and Sirius curls on to his side and slots the cushion under his head, turning his attention back to the TV. He feels a little bit better now, but he gets a kick out of laying it on thick because Remus’ deadpan responses make him laugh, and Remus gets a kick out of Sirius laying it on thick because secretly he likes to fuss.

Still, Wardric _did_ bloody die of a hangover. Sirius will prove it later by showing Remus the Wiki article. Just as soon as he has the energy to pick up his phone again. More importantly, he needs to figure out how he’s going to get the energy to drag himself into the bathroom.

He is not above asking Remus to carry him.


End file.
